


"The Mystery of Phanaticism"

by Zagzagael



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:50:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zagzagael/pseuds/Zagzagael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I fixed the ending of Fringe. For Astrid. Spoilers through Epi100.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"The Mystery of Phanaticism"

She understands men. Of a certain age, era, generation. Older men, there she said it out loud to herself as she’s applying the gorgeously understated matte colour to her lips. She cocks her head and peers closer at her reflection in the mirror in her bathroom. 

She has the master bed and bath in the house, her father insisted years ago when she moved in to act as daughter and companion. Her mother had been gone so long she no longer remembered her and sometimes she wondered what her mother would think of this. The beautiful young woman keeper of her father, guardian of the brilliant mad scientist. Would she be dismayed? Was she herself discouraged at the path her life had pulled her down? Not really. Not anymore.

There had been a time. Before Walter. When she had wanted a different kind of man, the kind of man that society had told her to want. Young, strapping, full of life and potential. The kind of man with whom she could perhaps walk side by side into a long domestic life together. But it had been brief, that flicker of longing. That small spark had been quenched the day she realized her father needed her and that she needed to be needed in that way, that particular way. She let her lease go, there had been a penalty, and she moved back into the house she had been raised up in. Into the woman she was now becoming. The woman whose skin she felt most comfortable occupying. Daughter, companion, caregiver, not caretaker because she never took. Ever.

And then Dr. Bishop. And her life became a labyrinth, twisting around and around until she found herself back at the center of it, making sense of the puzzle, the maze. Pondering why she hadn’t let out a ball of yarn to follow back to the entrance. Wondering how she had so willingly run the convolutions that he encouraged her to. This way and that, around this corner, back down this way, and through, just here, this opening and into the dark. Of his mind. And his heart. He guided her and she took his hand and let him lead. 

But that was just between the two of them. The others saw her leading. They didn’t see, or chose not to, or pretended otherwise, the joined hands of the assistant and her mad scientist. Regardless of whom was leading whom, the blind the deaf the dumb, they always went together and they always went hand in hand. Daughter, father. Father, daughter. No, more and less than that. Strange love borne from strange ways.

It suited her. Until it changed. And she became restless.

Walter had always known she was a genius. The quiet exacting intellect that had dampened her in this world and damaged her in the other. But it was there and it was fierce and one night, alone as per their usual, in the lab, he had told her in his lackadaisical manner. She was brilliant beyond comprehension. Intelligence immeasurable. He had turned the amazing sunlight of his face upon her and took her head between his large palms and pressed his mouth to hers and then laughed like a child. _I know your secret_ , he had whispered. 

She didn’t know she was keeping that secret, she knew she had a heartful of secrets, but she hadn't know that was one of them. Her secret was how she loved. Who she loved. And why. Did he know that theirs was a clandestine affair, consummated nightly in her dreams. The dreams that would drench her unexpectedly throughout the day and her body would grow still in an effort to hold the warm water of possibility until, sadly, it flowed out of her and she had to touch his arm, fetch him candy, brew him tea or just sit on a lab stool and stare thirstily at his back.

And she would go home and eat the food her father had prepared, perfect home-cooked meals he spent entire afternoons creating, beautiful set table, exquisite glass of wine, and quiet stories of her day. And then up to her room where she would lie uncomfortable, regretful, and wait for her own alternate reality to rise up and pull her back down into her yearnings.

He knew. And she wanted him to know. He had said one afternoon, out of the blue, as was his manner, _'a little learning is a dangerous thing'_. And that’s all he said, but he walked past her and brushed at her knee as she sat waiting for him. And then she broke his code and smiled to herself thinking, learn me, know me, please. A long time later she looked up and his gaze was fast upon her. She answered for him, _drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring: there shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, and drinking largely sobers us again.'_

 

When the wormhole had been opened and was calling like a woman’s body, promising completion, she ran to him and he reached out to her with his free hand. His other holding fast to Michael. She took the offered grasp and held on with all her might. The three of them stepped into the future. Together.


End file.
